


"you look so good, but i keep my hands"

by violet_sunset



Series: Crankiplier Fics [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Ethan Nestor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Sad Ethan Nestor, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22769539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_sunset/pseuds/violet_sunset
Summary: Ethan's love language is touch, but he doesn't understand that he needs it to feel loved. Luckily, Mark can read his friend pretty damn well and gives him the comfort he needs.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor
Series: Crankiplier Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637089
Comments: 29
Kudos: 518





	"you look so good, but i keep my hands"

**Author's Note:**

> first crankiplier fic, love the whole crankiplier crew tho <3  
> title from mitski's "Come Into the Water"

Ethan has heard it so many times in his life. He’s “too needy” and should just deal with the fact that people don’t wanna hang out all the time. And to an extent, Ethan gets where they’ve been coming from. Yes, he likes spending near-constant time with the people he loves, but it’s not because he’s needy in the emotional way. Sure, he’s insecure about like, everything about himself, but he tries to keep that part tucked close to his chest when he’s around other people. No, what he really needs is touch. And people just don’t give him enough.  
  
Ever since he was a kid, Ethan’s wanted to be cuddled up to someone, or holding hands, or bumping shoulders, or crossing ankles while sitting on the couch. He’s always particularly liked being held in someone’s lap. That’s a safe place to be. But as he got older he found that guy friends just didn’t do any of that, at least not regularly enough to fill Ethan’s quota. He stayed a mama’s boy for way longer than was probably socially acceptable because of this.  
  
Now, in L.A., he has Mark and Tyler and Amy and Mika, and all the other wonderful people he spends time with, but he still doesn’t get enough touch. Even with Unus Annus, Mark doesn’t let his touches linger long enough to soak into Ethan’s skin and root him to the ground the way he wants. The way he needs. And it’s starting to show.  
  
“Hey, don’t forget to grab the vinegar!” Mark calls through the backdoor.  
  
“Shit,” Ethan mumbles, and wheels a 180 on the tile in his socks, clutching the mountain of supplies for the day’s recording session and wondering how in the hell he was supposed to fit a whole bottle of distilled white vinegar into his overloaded arms and — oh fuck!  
  
“Woah!” Amy gasps as she lurches forward to steady Ethan. Her hands come up to grip his shoulders and her touch burns. “Careful, dude.”  
  
Ethan briefly wonders if it’s possible for his body to fizz up like a science fair volcano and blast his brain out through his ears. Then Amy lets go and holds up her hands as if to spot Ethan, making sure he can stand on his own. “You good?” she asks.  
  
Ethan can’t speak, so he just nods dumbly and ignores the way the tendons in his arms are twitching like they’re suddenly and horribly restless. The spots where Amy’s palms touched his arms pulse like day-old bruises, and Ethan fights against the urge to just collapse and cry. He lets Amy take a few things off his hands and they head out to the yard together, but Ethan barely registers the thud of his feet against the patio. He hates feeling like this. The last time it got this bad he was still in high school and he nearly sobbed when his best friend at the time hugged him a little longer than usual at the end of the day. He’d spent all night shivering because he couldn’t escape the feeling that his skin was in this screaming sort of agony, begging and yearning and trying to tear itself apart to get just a hint of that warm fondness again.  
  
“Eth? Ethan.” That’s definitely Mark’s voice. Whoops.  
  
“Uhhhyeah?” Ethan mumbles, zoning back in.  
  
“You uh, wanna set this stuff down and maybe go lay down?” Mark asks, and he looks like he’s about to speak again before he stops and looks Ethan up and down.  
  
“You don’t need help setting up?” Ethan asks, still standing stock still. Part of him would love to just collapse into the sofa in Mark’s living room and nap until it was time to film, but the other, gnawing part of him wanted to stick around on the off chance that Mark would bump into him and Ethan could get some semblance of affectionate closeness.  
  
“Nah, I got this,” Mark assures. “You look like you need to rest.”  
  
As much as Ethan agrees with that statement, he’s also saddened by it. It seems like such a childish thing to be impaired by. Ethan wants to be helpful, not ridiculous and useless and… needy. His eyes sting and a lump forms in his throat at the thought of bothering Mark, who already doesn’t like to be touched all that much. Ethan wishes he wasn’t so damn difficult to be friends with. Maybe then he wouldn’t have this problem, and he could just stick around and help Mark set up and be fine for the video instead on the verge of tears. “Yeah, okay,” he concedes, and shuffles forward to unload his armful of supplies onto the fold-out table.  
  
Mark catches the few rounded bottles and brushes that start to roll away and begins organizing the table. “There’s blankets in the linen closet if you need one,” he says, clearly dismissing Ethan for the time being.  
  
Ethan turns away quickly so Mark won’t see his eyes turning red. He hates crying, especially over this, but it feels like his body is aching to be held. He’s never been in space without a suit, but he imagines his skin would feel like this — all pressureless and hurting and wishing something would come along and just hold it together. Ethan just needs someone to hold him together, just for a while, and maybe forever.  
  
On autopilot now, Ethan grabs one of the fuzzy blankets that’s probably meant for the dog beds and throws himself onto the couch, worming his way up the cushions until he’s properly smashed between the backrest and the seats. He tries to tuck the blanket’s edges around him like the arms of a friend, but it’s cold and useless. Ethan shuts his eyes and lets tears slip across his nose and drip onto the couch cushions, soaking into his hair. Once they’ve started, they don’t stop, and Ethan ducks his chin to his chest and pulls the blanket up over his cheek to try and disguise his crying.  
  
It doesn’t take long to fall asleep, the weight of sadness mingling with exhaustion and pressing Ethan into a heavy stupor.  
  
  
  
Mark spends all of thirty minutes making sure the tripod is set up at the right angle and ensuring they have enough of all the supplies to make model solar systems and science fair volcanoes and all. Mark never got to make many of these as a kid, and Ethan is hilariously terrible under pressure and a time limit, so they thought it would be fun to just try and make a few of the typical science fair projects with a time constraint and see who can make it best. On paper it was basically a Markiplier Makes, but for all intents and purposes they’ll make it an appropriately creepy commentary on doing the things you couldn’t do as a child because in the end, it won’t matter how old you were when you fulfilled certain goals, it would just matter that you did it at all.  
  
Satisfied, Mark dusts his hands of imaginary debris and heads towards the house to wake Ethan for the video. They’ll probably have to wait a few minutes for Ethan’s sleepy face to fade and for him to be back in the game, but it’ll give Mark time to observe his friend and make sure he’s doing okay. Ethan is usually too hyper to sit still, but lately Mark’s noticed that Ethan is getting lost in these little spells of silence and stillness, where he’ll stare into space and look as lost as a kid in a supermarket. He snaps out of it with a laugh and an “I’m fine!” for the most part, but today it’s harder to rouse him from his stupors.  
  
When Mark crosses the threshold into the living room he pauses, noting that Ethan is curled tightly to himself under one of Chica’s puppy blankets. He smiles a little and wonders if he could sneak a picture to text Amy. He thinks better of it when he notices how tense Ethan seems, even in sleep. Mark gets closer, intending at first to shake Ethan awake, but when he bends a little to reach out he notices the tear stains on Ethan’s face. The boy’s nose is pink like he’d fallen asleep crying, and he’s clenching his jaw despite being completely out.  
  
Mark isn’t sure what’s wrong exactly, but he knows immediately that filming will have to wait until he figures it out. Ethan might be sensitive, but he doesn’t cry without a reason. Even if Mark wouldn’t cry for the same thing, Ethan’s tears always have a cause, and it’s always important to him. Mark crouches down beside the couch so he’s close to eye-level with Ethan and finally connects a hand to Ethan’s shoulder.  
  
Ethan gives a tiny whimper and jerks in his sleep. Mark starts to pull back, worried he’s startled Ethan in the middle of a nightmare, but as soon as his hand lifts off Ethan’s sleep-warm skin he realizes what’s wrong. Ethan’s breath hitches and he lets out a long, tired whine at the loss of contact. Unsure if he’s right, Mark decides to experiment. He rests his hand back on Ethan’s arm, taking care to stroke his thumb across the hem of Ethan’s sleeve. Ethan huffs and relaxes in his sleep, unfurling a little from his cramped position on the couch. Okay, definitely right on the money.  
  
Ethan is touch-starved.  
  
Really, Mark should have guessed. He feels like an idiot, but then again he’d have no way of knowing unless Ethan said something. As Mark watches Ethan’s breathing level out, he thinks back on all the things Ethan has said and done that Mark just filed away. How his relationships haven’t always worked out in the past because his girlfriends thought he was too sensitive. How Ethan didn’t have a ton of guy friends growing up because they thought he was too girly. How Ethan’s favorite things in the world were hugs. How Ethan would let a high-five last just a little too long, or how Ethan leaned in almost unconsciously when Mark talked, or the way Ethan smiled for hours after Amy tousled his hair or laid her head on his shoulder during movie nights.  
  
Mark knows instantly that Ethan would’ve never said anything. He’s insecure about a lot of things, but this would just humiliate him to talk about. If all his past experiences with wanting touch have ended with someone telling him he’s too needy, Ethan wouldn’t just ask. And especially not when Mark has made it infinitely clear that he doesn’t like to touch unless it’s explicitly on his own terms and at his preferred times. Shit.  
  
Wary of waking Ethan now, Mark shifts forward onto his knees and settles into a cross-legged pose at the head of the couch. He slides his hand up and down Ethan’s arm slowly, from the edge of his shirt-sleeve to the curve of his wrist and back. As Mark continues, Ethan starts to make involuntary sounds in the back of his throat. Little happy murmurs that fill Mark with unbridled joy. In his eagerness to help Ethan get back to normal, he must move too fast or press too hard, because suddenly Ethan’s eyes are blinking open and Mark’s heart sinks fast like a lead balloon.  
  
Ethan gasps and shoots upright, legs tangled in the blanket. He’s probably startled more by their proximity than anything else. Mark watches Ethan reach up and wipe his face hard with the back of his hand as if to clear the remnants of his tears, then sniff and shiver like he’s caught a cold. Mark feels very suddenly like they’re both balancing on two ends of a tightrope. There’s two ways off, and one way down, and Mark doesn’t like the odds that they won’t end up on the same end.  
  
“I — uh, wha… is—? Uh,” Ethan pauses, shaking his head slightly to clear it. “We ready to shoot?”  
  
Mark isn’t sure what to say. He realizes his hand is still outstretched. He lets it fall limply to his side and rocks back where he’s seated. “I was coming to wake you up,” he explains.  
  
Ethan looks nervous. “Okay,” he says stiffly. “Where’s the fire?”  
  
Mark pretends to laugh at that. “Hopefully nowhere,” he answers. Maybe he should just pretend nothing happened. Just move on and try to give Ethan more casual touch than before to balance this out. But then Ethan twitches, and Mark can practically hear those pleased little sighs from before, and he knows this has gone on too long to ignore now. He sighs, putting on a more serious expression and pushing forward to sit beside Ethan on the couch. He read somewhere that it was easier to have important conversations with people you care about if you didn’t look at them straight-on. Something about being more inviting and less squared off.  
  
“Is everything okay?” Ethan asks quietly. He’s looking at Mark, but not in the eyes. More in the cheek region.  
  
Mark debates the pros and cons of putting his hand on Ethan’s knee, then decides fuck the t-chart and does it anyway. Ethan stiffens a little, barely breathing. “I should be asking you that,” he replies, feeling like a weird movie cliche.  
  
Ethan gulps audibly. “Uh, what — what d’you mean?” he asks, but his tone implies he knows exactly what this is about.  
  
“When I came to wake you up, I saw you’d been crying,” Mark explains. “I was just gonna wake you up and ask, but when I grabbed your shoulder, you —” Mark tapers off, not sure how to describe this without embarrassing Ethan.  
  
Apparently Mark’s efforts are wasted, because Ethan groans and drops his head into his hands, curling forward like he might just disappear through the floor. “Just kill me now, I don’t wanna know,” he laments.  
  
Mark can’t suppress the wry chuckle that wrings out of him. “It wasn’t bad, you just looked like you needed it. Like, like you needed someone to just, you know, give you some affection,” he finishes lamely.  
  
Ethan groans again but doesn’t uncurl. “Seriously, Mark, kill me. I want to die.”  
  
“Do you want affection?” Mark asks sincerely. “Like, touch?”  
  
“Honestly?” Ethan asks bitingly. “I’m fucking starved for it, but it’s stupid because nobody likes being touched all the time and I should just be normal and like, take hugs and shit where I can get ‘em but I, it fucking hurts —” Here Ethan has to stop because his eyes are filling with tears and his voice is starting to crack.  
  
Mark makes an executive decision and moves his hand from where it’s being crushed by Ethan’s hunched form and wraps his arm around Ethan’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Ethan gasps, wiping away his tears and twisting his torso to avoid looking at Mark.  
  
“Will you just relax,” Mark prods.  
  
Ethan does the opposite, tensing impossibly further and feeling like he’ll bolt out of the room at the slightest misstep. Mark doesn’t give him the opportunity, instead taking advantage of his considerably bigger frame and practically dragging Ethan onto his lap. Mark maneuvers his legs up onto the couch and reclines, keeping Ethan locked in while he does so until he’s lying flat on his back and Ethan is trapped on top of him.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing!?” Ethan whisper-shouts, struggling as if to get away.  
  
“Just let me hug you, goddammit,” Mark jokes, hoping to clue Ethan in on how non-problematic this is for Mark. Maybe then he’ll stop freaking out.  
  
Ethan shudders when Mark suddenly lays his other hand on Ethan’s back and starts rubbing comforting circles against his spine. Just like that, all the fight bleeds out of Ethan and he drops his head to rest on Mark’s chest, clinging to Mark’s t-shirt with both hands and tangling their ankles together. Mark hums contentedly and begins petting Ethan’s hair with the hand he was previously using to keep him from bolting.  
  
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Mark teases.  
  
“Fuck you,” Ethan mumbles.  
  
“Oh you wish you could,” Mark fires back.  
  
Ethan fake retches, then giggles. He slaps Mark lightly on the shoulder before settling even closer into their horizontal embrace. It would look strange from the outside, especially to anyone who really knows Mark and his general aversion to too much affection. Mark wonders if Amy’ll walk in on them like this, what she’ll say, and if Ethan will get embarrassed all over again. It’s only when Mark realizes that Ethan’s breathing has settled into gentle snores that he knows this is definitely going to become a regular occurence. If Ethan’s been losing sleep over this, it’s clearly worse than Mark thought.  
  
Mark intentionally pushes all the melancholy thoughts aside and instead focuses on how Ethan’s body responds to every touch and movement. He seems to squirm to get comfortable, pressing his face into Mark’s shirt and rubbing his feet against Mark’s ankles and shifting like a cat stretching when Mark rubs in one spot for too long. Mark realizes eventually it’s because Ethan is subconsciously trying to get that warm, comforting touch everywhere he can, and Mark’s chest swells with too many emotions to sort through. He wraps his arms tight around Ethan and just squeezes for a moment. Then he sighs, releasing the tightness in his heart and letting the soft sound of Ethan’s breathing soothe him. If there’s anything that came out of today, it’s the knowledge that Mark will do absolutely anything for his friend. He just hopes Ethan will know that without a doubt one day. Mark guesses he’ll just have to prove it to him. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, settling in for a nap with Ethan.


End file.
